Carnal Curiosity (3 page)

She came back into his office. “We have this newfangled thing called a buzzer,” she said.

“You need the exercise,” he riposted. He scooped up the papers on his desk and handed them to her. Sort these into some sort of sane filings. I’ll e-mail you my memo to Tax and Finance, and you can messenger the lot over to them.”

She hefted the stack of paper. “Feels like a major new client, if we’re starting at this weight.”

“I believe that will be the case. Your experience with my file should be of use. You might use that as a template.”

“Will do.” She vanished, and after a moment, buzzed him. “See? A buzzer! Dino on one.”

Stone sighed and picked up the phone. “Good morning, Chief,” he said. Dino had been the new chief of detectives of the NYPD for some time now. “You and Viv going to the Strategic Services shindig tonight?”

“It’s a free meal, isn’t it?”

“Is it? I was thinking just cocktails.”

“I can smell a free meal all the way downtown.”

“Okay, I have a date. Join us for dinner, whether there or elsewhere.”

“If it’s free, we’re there.”

“Then I hope that Mike Freeman provides.”

“Who’s the date?”

“Somebody new. Her name is Crane Hart.” He spelled it.

“How new?”

“Brand spanking new. I think you’ll approve.”

“I approved of the last one, and she stole five million bucks from you.”

“Well, your judgment of women was never that great.”

“How about
your
judgment? It wasn’t
my
five million she stole.”

“My insurance company is making me whole.”

“You’re a lucky bastard.”

“I’ve been told that recently, without the bastard.”

“Shall we pick you up?”

“Okay. Crane will be impressed by my pull with the department. Six-forty-five?”

“Yep.”

“And use the siren, that always impresses my dates.”

“We’ll see.”

—

D
ino’s black departmental SUV rolled to a stop at the awning of 570 Park. Stone went to get Crane, while Dino transferred to the front seat, leaving his wife, Viv, to share the rear with Stone and his date.

Crane came downstairs, glowing in a simple black Armani dress with a black-and-white houndstooth jacket, topped off with a rope of pearls. They exchanged a kiss that would not disturb her lipstick.

Stone helped her into the SUV and made the introductions. “And that’s Sergeant Devane at the wheel.”

“Ma’am,” the sergeant said.

“What have I done to need so much protection?” Crane asked as the vehicle moved off.

“You’re with Stone,” Dino said. “It’s standard operating procedure. The department would never leave you alone in a car with him.”

“Then I’m grateful,” she said.

The party was held in the executive suite of Strategic Services, which was the world’s second-largest security company, with offices and other facilities worldwide. The big double doors between CEO Michael Freeman’s office and the large boardroom had been thrown open, and the combination kitchenette and wet bar at one end of the room had been put into use. Stone ordered drinks from a waiter, and they quickly arrived.

Mike Freeman came over and welcomed them, and Stone introduced Crane.

“Crane is an admirer of your company,” Stone said.

“That’s always nice to hear,” Mike replied. “Not many women admire large security enterprises staffed by armed personnel.”

“It beats Bergdorf Goodman any day,” Crane replied.

“And what do you do, Crane?”

“I’m a fraud investigator and an adjuster in the large-account division of Steele Insurance.”

“That’s interesting,” Mike said. “Why don’t you all stay for dinner after the mob leaves, Stone, so that I can talk more with Crane about this.”

“We’d be delighted,” Stone said, and Mike moved off to greet his other guests.

“Did you say something to him about me?” Crane asked Stone.

“I did not, but you managed to get his attention in about ten seconds, and you got us a dinner invitation.”

Stone watched as Crane turned toward the arriving guests, and her face fell just a bit. “Someone you know?” he asked.

“Someone I no longer want to know,” she said. “My ex-husband.”

Stone looked at the arriving guests. “Which one?”

“The giant,” she replied.

There was, indeed, a giant among the group. Stone made him at six-six and 240. The man spotted Crane and started toward her.

Crane turned her back on him and faced Stone. “I don’t want to talk to him here,” she said.

Stone stepped between them and held out a welcoming hand. “Good evening, I’m Stone Barrington.”

The giant grasped Stone’s hand in his paw. “And I’m Don Dugan.”

Stone tried not to wince and managed to disengage his hand. “How are you, Don?” The man tried to sidestep him, but Stone was too quick for him.

“I’d like a word with my wife,” Dugan said.

“I’m afraid she has a bad case of laryngitis.”

“Then I’ll just whisper in her ear.”

“She has an ear infection, too.”

“It looks as though I’m going to have to remove you from my path,” Dugan said.

“Please reconsider that.”

Dugan placed an index finger against Stone’s chest and began to push.

Stone took the finger in his hand and bent it backward. Dugan’s knees buckled to relieve the pressure, but Stone kept it up. “Come with me,” he said. Keeping him with bent knees,
Stone led him across the room toward the lobby. “If you make a scene,” he said to the man, “I’ll break it off and feed it to you.” They entered the lobby.

Mike Freeman spotted the pair and fell into step with them. “Going down?” He pressed an elevator button and the door opened.

“Thank you, yes,” Stone replied. He walked the giant into the elevator, pressed the button for the ground floor, then, after a final tweak, he let go of the finger and stepped backward off the elevator, keeping an eye on Dugan, and the doors closed.

Mike was already on his cell phone. “A gentleman is coming down on elevator two,” he said into it. “Please escort him to the street door and see that he doesn’t reenter the building. It’s going to take at least two of you.”

“Well done,” Stone said. “You know that guy?”

“Sort of,” Mike said. “He owns an investigative agency. Was he trying to get to Ms. Hart?”

“He’s her ex-husband,” Stone explained, “and she didn’t want to talk to him.”

“I was thinking of buying his business,” Mike said, “but I just changed my mind.”

4

S
tone returned to the party and discovered that he had handed his drink to Dino, who returned it.

“Did you and the big guy have a nice conversation?” Dino asked.

“A very brief one. I did all the talking. Where were you when I needed you?”

“Drinking,” Dino said, raising his glass. “And you didn’t seem to need any help.”

“Thank you,” Crane said. “That could have turned ugly.”

“Is he in denial about the divorce?” Stone asked.

“Well,” she said, looking embarrassed, “we’re not quite divorced.”

“How close are you?”

“We negotiated a property settlement, and now he won’t sign it.”

“Has your attorney spoken to his lawyer?”

“Yes, but he has been ineffective.”

“Who is he?”

Crane told him. “Do you know him?”

“Only by reputation,” Stone replied. “He’s the sort of attorney who would let the divorce run on, just to up his billable hours.”

“I’ve been getting the bills.”

“Tomorrow morning, messenger him a letter firing him and telling him to give your file to the messenger. I’ll get this done.” He gave her his business card.

“I’ll do it first thing,” she said, tucking the card into her bra.

Someone was clinking a glass. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Mike Freeman called from the other side of the room, next to a giant television screen. “If I may have your attention, an important announcement is about to be made.” The TV came to life, framing an empty podium on a dais. “Ladies and gentlemen,” a voice said, “the first lady of the United States.”

Katherine Lee stepped to a podium and the camera zoomed in for a close-up. “Good evening,” she said. “I’ve asked you here this evening for an announcement. I have decided to enter the race for the Democratic nomination for president of the United States.” The friendly crowd burst into applause. She waited for it to die down, then continued. “I realize it’s late in the day, but I’m very concerned with the state of the race in the primaries, so tomorrow morning I will file for the New Hampshire primary, and I will be in the race until the convention chooses a candidate.” More applause. “I won’t be taking questions from the press until tomorrow, but I would like to make one thing perfectly clear: I have not asked the president to support me in the primaries, and he is free to support anyone he likes—sort of free, anyway.” Big laugh. “My husband will be releasing his own statement tomorrow morning, but the gist of it will be that he will have no comment on the race until the party has chosen
a candidate, and that he expects to support that candidate wholeheartedly… whoever she may be.” More laughter and applause. “I thank you all for coming tonight, and now members of my staff will pass among you with collection plates.” More laughter, more applause, then the camera cut to Chris Matthews and a roundtable of journalists for discussion. The TV went dead.

“Dinner is served,” Mike announced, and the group turned to the buffet table.

Later, Stone and Crane said good night to the Bacchettis and entered his house.

“Would you like a drink in the study?” Stone asked.

“Yes, and I think we should talk.”

Stone settled her on the sofa, poured them cognacs, then joined her.

“Here’s the history in a nutshell,” Crane said. “Don and I met a little over three years ago, and I guess he sort of swept me off my feet. He can be very charming when he wants to be. We were married, and he turned out to be a violent drunk. I left him after five months. That was two years ago.”

“And nothing has happened since? You didn’t file for divorce?”

“No. He was trying to sell his business, and he said any publicity might queer a deal, so I held off. Six or seven months ago I hired the attorney, and negotiations began on the settlement.”

“Were you asking for a lot?”

“I wasn’t asking for anything—he was. I have some inherited wealth from my father mostly in the form of the house I live in, where I also rent out two apartments. My net worth is not a
huge amount, but it’s enough to keep me. He wanted half of everything.”

“That’s outrageous after only a few months of marriage. You shouldn’t give him a dime.”

“The settlement he agreed to, then refused to sign, gave him a quarter of a million dollars.”

“How long ago did he verbally agree?”

“Nearly three months ago.”

“This is what I recommend: tomorrow I’ll have another attorney at my firm officially represent you and send his attorney a letter withdrawing from the settlement and including a document that, if he signs it, will agree to a no-fault divorce with each party retaining his own assets. We’ll tell his attorney that he has until noon the following day to consent, or we’ll file for divorce and exercise your right to a jury trial, which he is unlikely to want.”

“That will make Don crazy,” Crane said, “but I’ll follow your advice. Why can’t you represent me?”

“Because you and I have formed a relationship, and that would make my representing you awkward from an ethical standpoint. It’s better if someone else is the attorney of record.”

“I understand.”

“I also think it would be better if you didn’t sleep here until the matter is settled, though I will certainly miss that.”

“I’ll miss that, too.”

They finished their cognac, then he put her into a cab and sent her home, which had not been his original plan.

5

S
tone slept poorly. His dreams seemed to alternate between his extraordinary carnal attraction to Crane Hart and fights with her ex-husband—correct that, husband. He awoke still tired from the day before, and his day was improved only by the newspaper reports of Kate Lee’s announcement of the evening before. They were mostly favorable, except from right-wing sources like the editorial page of
The Wall Street Journal
, which questioned the value of being first lady to her qualifications as a candidate. These sources mostly ignored her service as director of Central Intelligence and her foreign policy experience. The more objective sources praised her intelligence and the wit she had displayed in her announcement.

Stone got to his desk late, still feeling fuzzy around the edges from his lack of deep sleep. Joan took one look at him and produced a second mug of coffee, which helped.

He phoned Herb Fisher, his friend and colleague at Woodman & Weld, and asked him to take over Crane’s divorce
proceedings, then e-mailed him a draft of the letter to Don Dugan’s attorney for his consideration.

Joan buzzed him. “I’ve got to run out for half an hour on some personal business,” she said. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

“If you don’t want to screen your own calls, then let the machine pick up.”

“Okay.”

She had not been gone for more than five minutes when the phone rang, and he picked it up without thinking. “Stone Barrington.”

“This is Don Dugan. I want to talk to you about the damage you’re causing to my marriage.”

“Hold it right there,” Stone said. “First of all, you don’t have a marriage, except on paper. Second, since I am not a party to your divorce, I’ve no intention of discussing anything at all with you. Any contact between you and your former wife should be conducted through your respective attorneys and not through me. Please don’t call again. Good day.” He hung up.

Another five minutes passed, then the doorbell rang. Joan had left the outside door to the office locked, so he got up and went to answer it. He checked to see who it was through the one-way glass panel and saw a man in a business suit. He opened the door. “Yes?”